Unforeseen
by HaloFin17
Summary: It was incredible how a series of unforeseeable events could do more in determining Loki's future than all his years of scheming combined. After all, he had never really wanted the throne. Loki's POV thru some of the most pivotal points of the Thor movie. Enjoy!


**Summary: **It was incredible how a series of unforeseeable events could do more in determining Loki's future than all his years of scheming combined. After all, he had never really wanted the throne. Loki's POV thru some of the most pivotal points of the Thor movie.

**Disclaimer: **As is sadly true in all other fandoms, I own nothing and no one.

**Author's Note: **My first attempt at writing a Thor fanfic, because Loki is simply too cool to ignore. Tom Hiddleston's portrayal of the character bleeds complexity and begs for exploration, so here's a little tidbit of digging around inside Loki's mind. Enjoy!

**Unforeseen**

I do not pretend to possess the gift of foresight. Why should I? After all, my sorcery and my cunning have always been perfectly adequate to serve my needs and ambitions, such as they are. But even if I was blessed enough, or cursed enough, to glimpse the future, could I ever possibly have foreseen _this_?

The varied colors of a rainbow bridge blur beneath my feet as I numbly follow my father's brisk pace back to the palace. I walk alone. And although solitude is certainly no stranger to me, this is not how things were supposed to be. There should be another, walking along beside me as he so often did. ..but he is not here. Not anymore.

Thor was supposed to receive a stinging reprimand from Odin for his disobedience – ideally one that would postpone his long-awaited coronation and gave me some small satisfaction on the side. But even I was surprised when the All-Father pronounced a sentence of banishment for his favored eldest son. Indefinite banishment. How was I to have foreseen such harshness?

I confess as much later that same evening to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, all of whom are still bemoaning Thor's sudden absence in shock. Freyja forbid that just one of them should have the courtesy to thank me for betraying Thor's intentions and thus saving all of our skins from becoming the prize trophy of some Jotun warrior. The Jotuns. Once more, I drop my gaze to study my left arm. The milky skin is miraculously unblemished, despite having come into contact with a Frost Giant's malevolent grip. But I do not believe in miracles, at least not as mortals might describe them. There must be an explanation for why my flesh is not painfully black and frost-bitten like Volstagg's.

Nevertheless, I cannot deny that a serious seed of doubt has been sown in those frozen wastelands – yet another byproduct of that guard's unforeseen delay in relaying our position to Odin. I must remind myself to slip a venomous serpent or two in his path sometime the near future. If not for his slothfulness, we would never have even made contact with the Jotuns…and I would not now find my steps drawn down again into the depths of the weapons' vault. To the glowing blue casket that lies at its farthest end.

For all the times that I have looked upon this ancient relic in the past, it is as though I have never really _seen _it until this moment. Dread hangs about it like a mist – dread and an impending, unknown doom. I grasp it with both hands all the same, bidding my extended limbs to cease their pathetic trembling. And though it is indeed what I both expect and fear, I am not prepared for the transformation of color and texture that seeps like a damp chill into my skin, spreading up through my wrists, my arms, and finally my entire body.

There is no reflective glass nearby, and for that I am glad. I do not know that I could have borne seeing my own eyes blinking back at me in their current state – glowing and burning in that distinctly monstrous shade of crimson. My chest is so tight it hurts. I suppose betrayal by one's family is always unforeseen, and therefore all the more painful.

Is it my desperate, almost childish, tirade that soon sends the All-Father unexpectedly into his "Odin-sleep"? Perhaps I shall never know. All I do know is that with Thor gone, the very thing I once deemed impossible is now a necessity. By all our laws, I am the next legitimate heir. That is, at least, as far as everyone else is aware.

It is difficult for me to grasp how this has all come about so quickly. So many unforeseeable events, and all in so short a time, have ultimately resulted in me – a stolen Frost Giant – seated upon Asgard's throne. I could not have planned it better myself, not even if I'd been granted half a dozen centuries in which to plot and prepare. And yet Fate, for some reason still unknown to me, has obviously seen fit to grant me that to which I would never have independently aspired. It is true I never really wanted the throne; I only wanted to keep Thor _off _of it for a while longer. And yet I too was "born to be a king," as Odin had communicated to us long ago. If only I had understood then the full meaning of those words. Had he meant for me to ever understand?

I was never intended to ascend the throne, that much is acutely obvious to me now. Part of me keeps expecting my mother to suddenly announce my true heritage to the whole of Asgard and declare that I am unworthy of Odin's scepter. But she does no such thing. Instead she actually smiles when she looks at me – a smile that is somehow still laced with sorrow and filled with a certain hope that I will never comprehend. She truly hopes that Thor will return to us. I do not. How could I possibly submit to that oaf's rule now, even if he should prove himself "worthy"?

Although it has not come about entirely by my own design, I find myself in possession of a mighty kingdom; I also find that I have no wish to lose it. Very quickly do I deduce that several key steps may yet be taken to further secure my newfound title – steps that primarily involve my brother. My _adoptive _brother. I shall pay him a visit tonight, in his exile on Midgard, and there plant a few choice words into his ears. Then perhaps one more trip to Jotunheim will be in order…one _last _trip.

If all goes to plan, I shall not have to look upon my true father or my false brother ever again.


End file.
